


it's alright, ma (i'm only bleeding)

by sylwrites



Series: fall in light [8]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Belonging, Commitment, Established Relationship, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: "I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received." - Antonio PorchiaRe: weddings, love, and happiness.A coda to 'Fall in Light'.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> 'this is the story that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend, the author started writing it not knowing what it was, and now continues writing it forever just because this is the story that never ends...'

_Although the masters make the rules_  
_For the wise men and the fools_  
_I got nothing, Ma, to live up to._

  * Bob Dylan



  
  


Jughead has heard the old stereotype that ‘all little girls dream about their weddings’, and he’s always thought that it was sort of bullshit. For one, it’s unreasonable to assume that just because somebody identifies as a particular gender, they will be obsessed with either the religious or legal institution of marriage. And furthermore, he’s sure that there are also plenty of little boys who dream about getting married, too.

 

However, it does seem fair to assume that if the stereotype _does_ apply to anybody, that person is certainly Veronica Lodge. And right now, as Jughead stands in the garden of the Wave Hill estate in the Bronx, the location of both the Lodge-Andrews wedding and today’s preceding rehearsal dinner, he also assumes that Veronica has outdone her own imagination. Because this place is _incredible,_ and he’s not even really a flowers sort of guy.

 

He’s also not really sure how Veronica even got a booking at Wave Hill, because the wait list is apparently supposed to be incredible. He supposes there are some advantages to being the daughter of Hiram Lodge, and definitely doesn’t put it past her to have dropped a few names in securing her dream venue. Jughead gets it: it has beautiful gardens and overlooks the nice part of the Hudson, where the surrounding trees are just starting to turn warm hues of red and orange. It’s not exactly what he imagined when he’d first thought about his best friend getting married, but now that he’s here, it seems like an obvious choice.

 

Besides, even though it has plenty of space, it’s not _so_ large that half of Manhattan can attend the wedding, which works out great for himself as the best man. Jughead isn’t exactly a fan of doing big speeches in front of four hundred people, so the limited one-hundred-and-fifty mark is welcomed. He still knows a lot of people on the guest list, including the other groomsmen (Moose, and then an old football teammate and friend of Archie’s from New Jersey, Reggie Mantle).

 

The relatively small size of the wedding party also surprised Jughead. Betty is one of Veronica’s bridesmaids, along with a prep-school friend named Nancy and a college friend whose name has already escaped him, but that’s it. The remainder of the people milling around post-rehearsal are family members of Veronica, primarily - she appears to have quite an assortment of cousins - and Jughead doesn’t know any of them, nor is he making much of an effort to introduce himself. He prefers to hang back by the riverside, where he’s currently standing and nursing a beer.

 

“Hey Jug.”

 

He turns to see Archie, who’s approaching with an excited but overwhelmed smile on his face. Jughead nods at him. “Hey man. Come to escape?”

 

Archie chuckles. He’s wearing pressed slacks and a blue dress shirt, both fitted perfectly thanks to Mr. Lodge’s personal tailor. Jughead has a suit for tomorrow that is also like a second skin, and to his surprise it’s actually both flattering _and_ comfortable. Veronica had picked it out - she also paid for it, thankfully - and this is the first time that Jughead has really gotten to see near-literally what money actually _feels_ like.

 

“Sort of,” Archie admits. “Ronnie has so much extended family. It’s kind of a lot, considering my side is basically my parents and you.”

 

That makes Jughead smile a little. “If you want, you can count Betty on our side to up your numbers,” he jokes. “I know she’s Veronica’s bridesmaid but she’s also my date to this thing.”

 

Archie laughs. “Done. One more for my side.” He glances over his shoulder at the crowd of Lodges, then turns back to Jughead. “Oh man,” he sighs. “I don’t wanna go back.”

 

“‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends’,” Jughead quotes.

 

Archie looks at him blankly, seems to decide that he’s going to ignore the statement rather than ask for it to be clarified, and then continues speaking. “Ronnie’s dad doesn’t even really like me, but I’m somehow expected to be upping the stock of his particular side of the family, also? I thought _Veronica_ was confusing - but no, her whole family is too. The expectations have never been less clear.”

 

Jughead doesn’t envy Archie’s position. He’s on decent terms with Betty’s family, but it still took him a little while to get there, and he can’t imagine what it would be like to have someone as intimidating as Hiram Lodge hovering over a relationship. But that’s probably not going to be helpful to Archie, so instead Jughead says, “You make his daughter happy. That’s all that matters, Arch.”

 

“Thanks, bro.” Archie claps a hand on Jughead’s shoulder. “Have I thanked you yet for being here? And agreeing to be my best man? I know it’s not your thing, but ... you’re the only person I thought of.”

 

“You’re the only person I’d do it for,” Jughead says truthfully, nudging his elbow into Archie’s side with brotherly affection. “Anyway. You’d better get back there before your future wife realizes you’ve been hiding out here for ten minutes.”

 

Archie groans exaggeratedly and flops his arms dramatically but then nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” He runs a hand through his thick red hair and plasters another of his signature grins on his face. “Oh hey, if I find your girlfriend, I’m sending her your way. If I can’t escape this, neither can you.” He mimes shooting a finger gun at Jughead and spins away, sauntering back toward the party.

 

“Loyalty is dead!” Jughead hollers after him.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, he’s flat on his back on an impossibly comfortable sofa, his right arm flopped down toward the carpet. His hand brushes against one of the sofa’s ornately carved legs and he takes the opportunity to drum his fingers against the solid wood. He’s in the common area of a hotel suite at the St. Regis in Manhattan, where he, Archie, Moose, and Reggie are staying the night before the wedding, courtesy of Veronica’s father. The girls are somewhere at the St. Regis, too, but Jughead isn’t entirely sure where. Archie’s not allowed to know, and he and Betty are fully capable of spending a night apart, so he hasn’t bothered asking.

 

This tradition itself is a little weird, Jughead thinks. The idea of having a sleepover with his grown adult best friend is kind of ridiculous. He’s reminded a little too strongly of when he used to sleep on the floor in Archie’s bedroom as a teenager, before Fred bought another twin bed for the spare room and made it into a bedroom for Jughead. Plus, the St. Regis is as grand as Manhattan hotels come; this is definitely one of those places where Jughead doesn’t feel at home. On the upside, there’s a strong possibility that the mattresses in this suite cost more than everything Jughead’s ever owned in his life put together, so it’s not like he’s going to be getting a bad sleep.

 

When they’d parted at Wave Hill, with the girls and guys piling into separate cars, Veronica had left Jughead with strict instructions not to allow the groomsmen - and her groom - to stay up too late. Jughead had opted not to make any promises he couldn’t keep, much to Veronica’s annoyance, but it’s already been quite a long day and personally, he’d be willing to fall asleep at any time. Reggie and Archie are having a few drinks, but Jughead doubts that it’s going to escalate into anything uncontrollable.

 

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow,” Reggie says. He’s at the bar, mixing some kind of concoction for Archie.

 

Archie laughs. “I know,” he admits. “It’s crazy.” He accepts the drink that’s handed to him. “Thanks, Reg. I always figured I’d get married, but I didn’t think it’d be this … extravagant.”

 

“Are you kidding? The minute I met Veronica, I knew it’d be this extravagant,” Moose jokes, his signature good-natured smile spread across his face. “I mean, look at where we are. I’ve never even been inside the St. Regis before, let alone stayed overnight in a suite. Look at the _view.”_

 

Jughead lifts his head. “That’s life with Veronica. One time she asked Betty and I if we wanted to spend New Year’s with them, then she flew us to the Bahamas on her dad’s jet.”

 

That news triggers a snort from Reggie and soft laughter from Archie, who shrugs and grins. “Yeah, I guess it is kinda crazy how wealthy the Lodges are. That was a good trip, though.”

 

“Yeah,” Jughead agrees, lowering his head back to the sofa. He remembers it fondly - pristine blue water, perfect weather, and some of the first moments of intimacy with his beautiful, brave girlfriend. Veronica might be a bit intense sometimes, but Jughead will always be so grateful to her for making those memories happen.

 

Reggie takes a sip from the tumbler of scotch in his hand. “Did you wear that old hat on the beach too, Jughead?” he asks, snickering a little. “How has that thing not fallen apart yet?”

 

“Shut up, Reg.” Jughead rolls his eyes. “I don’t wear it _all_ the time anymore.”

 

“For Betty’s sake, I hope not,” Moose jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

Jughead gives him the middle finger. “Fuck off,” he says affectionately. “Veronica says I’m not allowed to wear it tomorrow. For Archie’s sake, I’m going to listen to her.”

 

Archie throws a cheeto at Jughead. “Plus Betty would probably kill you.”

 

“Only because she’d never hear the end of it from Veronica.”

 

Archie shrugs. “I dunno, I think she’s looking forward to having some nice pictures of you guys together. She was talking to Ronnie earlier.”

 

Jughead frowns a little. What? “We have nice pictures!” he protests. “She has made me pose for _so many_ pictures, that’s just-”

 

“They’re probably just nice because Betty’s in them,” Reggie says. He tips the remainder of his whiskey down his throat, then sets the glass down with a distinct _clink._ Jughead gives him a dirty look, to which Reggie holds his hands up and shrugs. “What?! Your girlfriend is hot! Am I supposed to lie?”

 

“I _know_ she’s beautiful, thanks.” Jughead chews the corner of his mouth, feeling annoyed. Nothing Reggie’s said has been even remotely vulgar, but they have never been friends by any stretch of the imagination. Any interactions they’ve had have been entirely because of Archie. The part of his life that’s about Betty is not up for Reggie’s discussion.

 

“One of Veronica’s cousins thought so too,” Moose pipes up, stepping back from the floor-to-ceiling window, where he’d been marveling at the Manhattan view.

 

Jughead turns to Moose, frowning slightly. “What?”

 

Moose presses his lips together apprehensively and briefly appraises Jughead, as though he’s not sure whether to continue, but after a moment he continues. “I’m not sure what his name is - the really tall one. Anyway, I was at the bar and Betty was there with Midge and yeah, one of Veronica’s cousins was hitting on Betty. Politely,” he adds hastily at the deepening frown on Jughead’s face. “Just asked to buy her a drink.”

 

“Ah.” Jughead chews his bottom lip. There are some stirrings low in his chest that he’s ashamed to recognize as jealousy. He is _not_ this guy. He loves and trusts Betty and knows that it’s mutual. It’s not the first time she’s been hit on, certainly; hell, it’s even happened with him there. And every time, when she handles it, Jughead marvels at how good she is at it. A polite smile, a “no thank you”, and if he’s around, sometimes a reference to being with her boyfriend. There have only been a couple of occasions where guys have been a little persistent and Jughead has stepped in to tell him to back off, surrendering to his more base territorial urges. And even then, it’s been more about making sure Betty is comfortable.

 

At least, that’s what he’s telling himself. If there is anything else to it, he’s actively choosing not to acknowledge it.

 

He sits up on the couch and watches Moose and Reggie set up an old Nintendo system. Archie is observing too, alternating between offering bad advice about cables and power sources and finishing his drink. Jughead stares at his socks for a minute - they’re vibrantly printed with a Donkey Kong pattern, a spontaneous gift from Betty - and decides to just check in quickly to make sure she’s having a good night. He tugs his phone from his pocket and taps his fingers across the screen before he can listen too hard to the voice in his head that’s accusing him of being overprotective.

 

**_So I hear I have competition._ **

 

Betty’s response comes quickly and with such attitude seeping through the screen that Jughead can practically see her eyes rolling. **_Absolutely not, Leandro just didn’t realize I wasn’t single!,_ ** she says, then follows up with a selfie where she obviously has some kind of facial mask on and is sticking her tongue out. **_This is all yours._ **

 

Jughead smiles and saves the photo. Always beautiful, he thinks, no matter what. To Betty, he replies, **_I’m joking, I’m not worried, Betty. But point him out to me tomorrow so I can be the stereotypical caveman boyfriend and stake my claim._ **

 

As soon as the message is sent, he picks up a controller and plays a round of Mario Kart - Rainbow Road from _Super Circuit,_ which he mastered years ago as a kid at Archie’s house. When his phone vibrates again, he expects to see a sarcastic response from Betty, telling him he’s ridiculous. Instead, a text from Veronica awaits.

 

**_Put a ring on it, dumbass._ **

 

Jughead stares at the message for a long second. His initial instinct is surprise at the insinuation, followed by annoyance at himself for feeling that way. _Of course_ these comments are going to start being made - he should get used to it. They’ve been dating for two years, they have jobs, live together, and even share a cat. On paper, it’s probably time.

 

Of course, Jughead has always prided himself on being the kind of person who does things because he wants to, and not because of some arbitrary social expectations.

 

“You in for this round, Jug?” Archie asks, jogging him from his thoughts briefly.

 

He sends a text to Veronica, telling her to mind her own business (albeit a little less politely) and then follows up with another message to Betty: **_I gotta go, the guys want to do a Mario Kart tournament, old-school style._ ** He puts his phone away afterward, ignoring a follow-up vibration, and then grabs the controller again.

 

“Yeah, I’m in,” he says. “Get ready to lose.”

  
  


After the tournament and a late-night viewing of _The Godfather -_ a movie which apparently reminds Archie a little too strongly of Veronica’s father - they decide to turn in. Hiram wants to take them for a fresh barber shave at 9:30, so they decide probably need to get some kind of rest. He’d been expecting instant slumber from himself given how long the day has been, but once his head hits the pillow Jughead realizes that he can’t sleep and then suddenly he’s back to staring at the ceiling again.

 

His mind, of course, is on Betty. And that stupid fucking text from Veronica. _Put a ring on it._

 

(Because a visual reminder of a woman’s relationship is apparently the only way to get guys to quit hitting on her. How progressive.)

 

Jughead groans quietly, ignoring the soft snores coming from Archie at the other end of the room. Now he’s just being an asshole to people in his head, too. Perhaps Veronica had been a little flippant, but it’s not an unreasonable statement to make. He gets it. It’s that time.

 

And if Veronica is expecting him to propose, then so is Betty, he suddenly realizes. He imagines that she wants to get married. Probably. _Right?_ But - no, of course she does. Her parents are married. Their parents were probably married. Her friends are getting married. Hell, she’s even made comments about getting married. It’s what people do. Again, not an unreasonable expectation.

 

The problem is - he’s always considered marriage (and its related institutions) to be sort of pointless.

 

He’s self-aware enough to have spent a lot of time picking apart the holes in his own arguments, but nothing has ever been strong enough to force a change of heart. The thing is, it’s a piece of paper. It’s nothing. It’s a few signatures and a kiss and twenty thousand dollars for a party full of people he doesn’t know or doesn’t like. And after, it’s not different. The paper doesn’t protect from unhappiness. It doesn’t promise stability or loyalty.

 

Because in the end, there is still the slap of skin and the sound of a slamming door. There are still raised voices and scared, crying babies. It doesn’t make a father quit drinking and it doesn’t stop a mother from leaving.

 

Jughead knows that he can’t blame his parents for everything. He’s not immature enough to live in that world forever. Plus he’s had stability - he’d lived with Fred, another person for whom marriage hadn't worked out - and it hadn’t changed his perspective. Whenever he'd imagined himself in the future, it was never with a ring on his finger - not necessarily because of the idea of commitment, although that was certainly part of it, but moreso because it just all seemed so futile. That whole American dream - a nice wedding, the white picket fence, two-point-five kids, a big house in the country - it’s something that is destined for other people. Happy people with nice families, good opportunities and bright futures. People like Archie.

 

Or Betty, Jughead realizes.

 

The thought hits him in his stomach, a three-ton anvil crushing his abdomen and shattering the tiny bit of hope that Betty had lodged somewhere in his chest over the last two years. She’s accused him of being defeatist, of searching for the worst just because that’s what he expects to find, and yeah, maybe she has a point. Maybe he does that. But maybe that’s just because it’s inevitable anyway. He’s been around in this world as himself long enough to know that what goes up in his life will always, always, always come down.

 

Jughead rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face into the pillow. It’s dense and filled with feathers, with a pillowcase so soft that his skin can glide clearly across it. _Here we are again,_ he says silently to his insecurities. _Just me and you._ He’s been waiting for them to come for him again, ever since the last time. And it’s this - _this_ is the other shoe, dangling from his fingertips, waiting to drop.

 

Betty’s face swims across his mind, and no matter what he does, it won’t go away. He doubts it ever will, long after she’s moved on to someone who can give her everything she wants and deserves. She’ll be in that big house upstate, the kind with the wraparound porch that sits on five rolling acres. Maybe she’ll think about him sometimes, but he’ll think about her _always_ \- just like now, with her face in his brain and her phantom touch on his arm, and maybe he’ll think about the day he fucked up and let her go.

 

The very idea of that happening is enough to bring stupid, shameful tears to Jughead’s eyes. He wipes them away with rough hands, annoyed at himself for his train of thought. He’s been trying not to let it consume him lately, because the cloud that hovers ends up raining on them both, and he’ll do anything for Betty.

 

 _Anything._ Including this. If it means nothing to him but it means everything to her, then he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

 

Jughead grabs his phone from the nightstand and unlocks the screen, prepping a new text to her. He stares at the blank message, keenly aware of the fact that it’s two in the morning. What was he going to say? _I love you and excuse this unsolicited message but just so you know I will die without you?_ Too dramatic. Instead, he simply sends **_I love you, Betty_ ** _,_ and then finally falls asleep.

  


* * *

 

The next day is chaos from the beginning.

 

He wakes up before everybody else. This would be unusual if the other occupant of the hotel room was Betty, but because it’s Archie, Moose, and Reggie, Jughead’s not shocked. Unfortunately, it means that he has to be the one to make unnecessarily loud noises and run the shower long, in an effort to stir the other guys. It works on Moose, who then mercifully takes it upon himself to wake Reggie and Archie. They end up being only ten minutes late for the barber, but it’s late enough that Hiram looks annoyed with Archie, and Jughead winds up having to apologize before that mood can permeate the rest of the day.

 

Then, when it’s time to get dressed, it becomes obvious that Reggie has left his white shirt at home, so he and Smithers leave for a whirlwind trip across the five boroughs to retrieve the item in Queens. Again, Jughead apologizes on Reggie’s behalf, because Archie looks like he’s going to fold under the glare from his soon-to-be father-in-law, and honestly it’s not _his_ fault that Reggie is the way that he is.

 

Miraculously, they’re not late to the ceremony. Jughead feels the heavy weight of the rings in his jacket pocket as he leans forward and whispers, “Good luck, man” to Archie. A flower girl toddles down the aisle, all done up in a huge princess dress, and then the bridesmaids begin to file down. He’s seen the dresses before - Betty had made him help her into it a few weeks prior after she’d gotten it back from the seamstress, just to ensure that everything fit properly with her shoes on. He can’t remember anything about what Betty said the cut was called, but it curves with her body and has one of those necklines that looks like the top of a heart.

 

She’d looked fucking incredible then, but it was nothing compared to how she looks now, walking down the aisle with that wine-coloured gown draped across her body. Her hair is up at the base of her head, with a few loose pieces curled by her face, and even though she must be wearing a lot of makeup (knowing Veronica) she still looks sweet and fresh-faced. Flowers line the aisle on both sides, and then there are, of course, the large gardens of Wave Hill just beyond the guests’ seating, but Betty is the most beautiful thing here.

 

Betty offers him a smile, and when Jughead goes to return it he realizes that he’s already beaming at her. She takes her place in front of Nancy at the front, smiling broadly at the gathered guests. As soon as Wagner’s bridal chorus begins, they all turn to watch Veronica and her father walk down the aisle.

 

The ceremony itself is mercifully short, and despite the Lodges’ avowed Christianity, it’s not overly religious, either. Veronica’s mother reads a prayer, the officiant declares them married, and Archie sweeps his bride down into a classic, dramatic kiss that has the crowd cheering. When he stands up, both he and Veronica are grinning so widely that there appears to be a chance their faces might shatter, and Jughead can’t help but smile as well.

 

“Congrats, you guys!” he says, clapping along with everyone else. Archie and Veronica head down the aisle with the bridal party following closely behind, and after twenty minutes of receiving guests, the follow the photographer through the gardens to take pictures.

 

Even though they are physically together, the hurried nature of the photos doesn’t permit Jughead much time to speak with Betty. She’s been on his mind all day; he had gone to sleep thinking about her, had dreamed about her, and since waking, has been focused on almost nothing but her. Finally, after what has to be thousands of pictures, the bridal party is given a few minutes to relax before their official introduction at the reception.

 

The first thing Jughead does is go to Betty and kiss her. She responds to the short but firm press of his lips with a soft smile of her own and twinkling green eyes. “You look so handsome,” she tells him, running his tie between her fingers.

 

“You’re incredible,” he replies, shaking his head a little and gesturing to her dress. “This - everything - it’s all beautiful.”

 

“Thanks,” Betty says a little shyly, dropping her hand into his. They drift slowly away from the rest of their friends, with just enough distance in between that their conversation can’t be overheard. “Look, Juggie, I’m really sorry about Veronica last night,” she says, rubbing her thumb across his fingers. “She was just teasing about the whole ‘put a ring on it’ thing. I’m not waiting around like Kate Middleton, waving my left hand expectantly at you.” She shifts her eyes, awkwardness evident for a brief moment before her smile overtakes them again. “I just - yeah, just wanted you to know that.”

 

Jughead swallows. This is not the place he wants to have this conversation, and now is definitely not the time. “It’s fine,” he says, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t think - it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He gestures to a well-maintained pond, complete with lilypads. “No frogs today.”

 

Betty follows his gaze. “Don’t need any. Veronica already found her prince.”

 

“Cheesy,” he says accusingly, squeezing her waist. He can feel the anxiety rising in his chest and hopes that if she notices anything off about his behaviour, that she just chalks it up to his nerves about his best man speech. And he _is_ nervous, though not as much as he thought he’d be. Clearly, he’s been able to sufficiently distract himself with something else to worry about.

 

Win some, lose some, he supposes.

 

They head back toward the rest of the bridal party, who are readying themselves for their entrance into the reception hall. Jughead knows that he should have a real conversation with Betty about marriage; their best friends’ wedding is hardly the place to do that, but he is also aware that it should be soon. He needs to get a more accurate gauge for where she’s at, he owes it to her to let her know where he stands, and then … come what may.

 

* * *

 

She’s in his arms again two hours later, after dinner has been eaten and speeches have been made. His had gone over fairly well - he prides himself on eloquence and had decided to use this occasion to also demonstrate his commitment to brevity - so he’s been fielding compliments like “great speech, Jughead!” for the last hour or so. The reception is in a grand atrium, where the illumination is all dim, twinkling lights, as though there are fairies holding tiny candles above the room. Betty looks beautiful in this light, too, but that’s not a surprise to Jughead.

 

They’re dancing, despite the fact that he really doesn’t like to, because it’s their best friends’ wedding and there’s been a few glasses of wine shared between them at this point. Veronica’s cousin is also in the back of Jughead’s mind, and even though Betty is not a prize and this is not a game, he doesn’t think it would be the worst thing if every single person in attendance knew that _he_ was the lucky asshole whose arm she was on. Besides, Betty had been looking at the dance floor with a happy sort of longing in her eyes, and Jughead is not going to go down in history as the man who saw that look and ignored it.

 

Or, _maybe I will,_ he thinks as he tucks her closer and watches her left hand slip past his shoulder. Maybe he just needs to get over himself, push his instincts away and give her what she wants. If there’s anyone he’ll compromise for, it’s definitely her; it’s still strange for him to think that there was a time before she was in his life, before they were even just roommates, or friends, or finally more - just nothing. He could wax poetic about the empty void of space that he occupied before she came in and filled it with meaning, but that’s bordering on pathetic and saccharine and even though they’re at a _wedding_ and that’s kind of the intentional atmosphere of the whole thing, Jughead refuses. If there’s one thing he’s not, it’s that guy.

 

Though Jughead has to admit, there is a bit of a magical quality to the evening that is definitely due in no small part to the whole venue and the decor. He’s dancing under real stars and fake pixie lights, wearing a suit that cost more than a semester at NYU, with his dream girl pressed against him and his brother’s happy smile still radiating across the room. It’s quite a wedding, one that Jughead will not soon forget.

 

It still doesn’t make him want one.

 

On the contrary; despite how beautiful and ethereal he’s sure everything is supposed to be, there is also a silent pressure that doesn’t seem palpable to anybody but Jughead. The whole wedding has a tremendous amount of pomp and circumstance for Archie and Veronica to have to go home and still be the exact same people that they were yesterday. There is no amount of imported flowers or hand-painted place cards that can change that. It’s a lot to live up to, Jughead thinks. If it were him, the expectation would be suffocating.

 

But a few feet away, Archie is dancing with Veronica. They’re wearing matching expressions of pure bliss; he’s staring at her like she’s the answer to all of life’s questions, and she’s gazing at him like he hung the moon.

 

Jughead gets it, but at the same time, he doesn’t at all. Don’t they understand what kind of a precedent they’ve set for happiness?

 

Fifteen minutes later, the DJ starts playing the Spice Girls, and all the men are immediately abandoned in favour of a sudden and rambunctious circle of women dancing together to music that Jughead only vaguely recalls hearing as a kid. Jughead takes the opportunity to go to the bar, grabs a beer, and then slides into the empty chair next to Fred Andrews at the family table.

 

“Hey, Jug.”

 

Jughead nods his head slightly and smiles. “Hey, Fred.”

 

“Nice toast. Knew you’d do great.” Fred reaches his own beer over to Jughead’s and clinks the bottles delicately.

 

“Thanks.” He meets Fred’s eyes. They’re so much like Archie’s - so familiar, so warm, so comforting. This is one of his people. “You know, Fred, all that stuff I said about Arch in the speech, about him always being there for me and being my family - I meant it about you, too.” He clears his throat. “And I should’ve thanked you more years ago. I mean, you’re more my dad than my dad is.”

 

Fred shifts with the familiar discomfort of someone whose mind doesn’t fully comprehend how to process compliments. “That’s not being fair to FP, Jug. He was set up for failure from the beginning.”

 

“He didn’t do much to help himself for a long time.”

 

“That’s fair,” Fred agrees. “And I couldn’t let that happen to you. But you don’t owe me anything. If the shoe was on the other foot, FP would do the same for Archie.”

 

Jughead tilts his head a little at Fred. “You believe that?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Fred answers without much hesitation. “FP’s still my best friend, Jug, doesn’t matter how many years pass or how much silence there is between us. And you’re still my son.”

 

A lump is beginning to form in Jughead’s throat. He’s not the kind of person who is prone to or comfortable with being outwardly emotional in public, especially not in front of a million well-dressed Lodges, and he swallows it. “Thanks, Fred.”

 

Fred nods ever-so-slightly in response and takes a long swig from his beer. He sets the bottle back down on the table and nods to the dance floor, where the girls are now going hard to the Backstreet Boys. “You gonna have yourself one of these?” he asks.

 

Jughead looks down and gives a careful shrug. “I dunno. Seems like a big waste of money.”

 

He laughs. “It sure is. But look at how happy those kids are today.” He sighs; when Jughead looks up, he can see that Fred’s eyes have gotten a little sad around the edges, but he’s still smiling. “It didn’t work out with Mary and I, but we had a pretty good run.”

 

“And you got Archie out of it,” Jughead offers.

 

Fred nods. “Sure did,” he says, clearly not making an effort to disguise the pride in his voice. “But even the rest - I don’t regret any of it, Jug. We’re still friendly, you know, and the wedding was a good day. We were really happy. It’s a good memory to have.”

 

Jughead nods a little and turns his attention back to the dance floor once more. He thinks about Fred’s words and feels his resolve settle in his stomach. He’s glad that Fred has made his peace with it all, but Jughead doesn’t want a good memory. He wants a good life, _with_ Betty, based on honesty and trust, and staying true to his instincts is the only way that he knows how to do that.

 

But at the end of the night, as Betty is leaning sleepily against him as they wait for the Lodge-supplied car to take them back to the hotel, Jughead tries to imagine what this night would be like if he hadn’t met her - if someone else had answered his ad for a roommate, or if he’d just tried to pay for the apartment himself. Would he be the same person? And if not, is that change in himself significant enough to sway his opinion on something that may or may not be important to Betty?

 

There have been a few too many celebratory drinks between 9:30 am and now to process this efficiently, and his head hurts thinking about it. He steels his mind, trying to focus, because this is _important._

 

And then it comes to him, on a velvet pillow carried by the harbingers of his insomnia. If _it doesn’t matter_ is his primary opinion, then why does he feel so torn over the concept of just getting married anyway if Betty wants it? Of course, the answer is so fucking obvious, he has to stop himself from physically recoiling with the realization. Because: she deserves someone who has the same look in his eyes as Archie had a little over a year ago, when he’d mentioned to Jughead that he was going to propose to Veronica. It was the look of someone who really _wanted_ to spend a year going over table settings and flowers and venues and chair coverings, who found solace instead of anxiety in the idea of publicly pledging his love to his girlfriend in front of all of their friends and family, and who truly, deeply believed that Happily Ever After was not only out there, but actively achievable.

 

Jughead helps Betty into the black car that pulls up to the curb, his heart now in the pit of his stomach. She smiles tiredly at him, slides one of her hands into his, and he realizes that this is yet another way that he’s not good enough for her.

  


* * *

  


Betty falls asleep in the car on the way back and wakes up just before they arrive at the hotel. Jughead thanks and then tips the driver, unsure of the required etiquette and too tired and neurotic to figure it out. He offers an arm to Betty, who leans against it for the short walk through the lobby and up the elevator.

 

He’s stiff under her touch and he knows it, knows he’s acting weird and knows that she can tell. He’s terrified of the seemingly unavoidable future where she’s not with him, but he can’t see a way around it. He doesn’t know to be what she needs all of the time, and unfortunately, _this_ is a pretty important piece of the puzzle.

 

Jughead helps Betty out of her dress and into her pajamas, then strips down himself and climbs into bed. She cuddles against him, innocently at first and then not-quite-so, tilting her head up to meet his lips. He obliges, because if he’s on a countdown then he’s damn well going to make the most of it. He’s torturing himself, too, of course, memorizing the way her mouth is against his and how easily his hand slips beneath her shirt to caress her hipbone. This whole fucking thing has drawn out all of his deepest insecurities, and the worst part is that he goddamn _knows it_ and still can’t stop them from invading his head. He gets to sit, front row, and watch them parade along in lockstep, marching forward to take what he wants out from under him.

 

Betty tugging on his hair snaps Jughead out of his reverie. When he lifts his head, he realizes that she’s buried beneath him, nearly naked, her pajama top and bottoms both scattered on the floor. His lips hover just above her bellybutton, his hands grip her hips, and she looks worried.

 

“What’s wrong, Juggie?” she asks softly.

 

He shakes his head at first, not willing to manage this tonight, but his mouth moves before his brain does. “Do you want to get married?”

 

Betty pauses, her eyes wide and frowning slightly. “Well yeah, I - yeah, I think so. Like, theoretically. Are you - um - is this-”

 

“No!” Jughead blurts out, shaking his head more rapidly. At her vaguely affronted expression, he hastily adds, “I mean - ugh, _fuck.”_ His head dips to her stomach again, and he hoists himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know how to say this, Betty, but it’s been all I can fucking think about since Veronica texted me last night.” He swallows and meets her eyes; he owes her this. “I don’t really, uh, believe in marriage.”

 

Betty’s frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

 

Jughead blinks slowly. “That’s bad phrasing, sorry. It’s a factual thing, it’s not something to believe in like Santa. What I mean is - I don’t put much stock into it, as an institution.” He takes a deep breath. “And I don’t think that I want to get married.”

 

Betty sits up a little, forcing Jughead to roll off her. She tugs the blanket up to cover her chest and then slowly rubs her eyes. “Um. Sorry, I need a second to … so - the wedding today. All of the beautiful moments, the celebration of Veronica and Archie’s love, that’s not something you want? Look at how happy they are.”

 

He sighs. It comes out a bit more heavily than he intended, and he bites his lip to temper the weight. “I’m not trying to be a cliche here, Betts, but marriage doesn’t make you happy. Loving someone, having someone to rely on, someone to support and who’ll support you - that’s what makes you happy. Or at least, that’s what I’ve observed over the last two years with you. I didn’t think I could ever have that kind of … whatever it is. Love. I didn’t think there would be anyone like you for me. But here you are.” He wrings his hands. “And I just don’t think that the piece of paper is going to make the difference between whether you keep loving me or whether you stop.”

 

She’s tired, that much is clear. Her eyes are red and he is hit again with the obvious fact that he could have chosen literally any other time to have this conversation and it would have been a better one than now. But it’s Betty, and she must be able to hear the nerves in his voice, because she’s looking at him hard the way she does when she’s trying to work through something in her head. “Yeah, it’s just a piece of paper - it’s not going to make me _stop_ loving you. A wedding is just a party, to celebrate how much two people love each other.”

 

Jughead hesitates before responding, not sure where exactly the line is and wanting desperately not to cross it. “The party is nice, for some people - but all those people talking about Veronica and Arch today, everyone staring, the fucking expectations that come with these events - it’s my worst nightmare, Betty. And for no difference. It didn’t make the difference for my parents.” He meets her eyes, saddened to see the echo of confusion that’s already there. “She still left. He still drank. Even Fred and Mary Andrews, they’re great people, great parents, and it didn’t make the difference for them, either.”

 

Betty runs a hand through her hair, gathering it silently into a ponytail. “My parents are still married,” she says quietly.

 

“I know, Betty, I don’t mean that - look.” Jughead takes her hand, counting it as a good sign when she doesn’t pull away. “I’m not going to sit here and play sad-little-boy with no parents and a hard childhood, can’t understand commitment. But maybe I am a cliche after all.” He tightens his grip. “I love you so fucking much. I’ve spent all day trying to imagine a world where you’re not with me, and I - I can’t. It’s like a goddamn nightmare. I’m _committed,_ Betty, right to the end, until we die or until you don’t want me anymore. I don’t need a piece of paper that proves that. All I need is for you to believe it.”

 

The digital clock beside the bed switches its glowing numbers, letting one more minute pass by, and he feels like a fool.

 

“And if you believing it means that we get married,” he begins slowly, trying to catch her gaze, “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything if it’ll make you happy. I just wanted you to know where I stand.”

 

Betty stares at him for a long minute, then swallows and says in a thin, vaguely mirthless voice, “Well, that was romantic.”

 

_Fuck._

 

“We don’t have to deal with this now, Jug. Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” she says, leaning over and pecking his lips briefly. She picks up her pajama top from the floor, slides it on, and then lays down facing the wall.

 

“Goodnight,” Jughead says, a beat too late. He stares at the back of her shoulder, watching the curve of her body rise and fall, and there is only silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a hundred thanks to singsongsung for her support throughout the process of me writing this coda. i apologize retroactively and in advance for my neediness.


	2. two

_Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy_  
_Ensure you not to quit_  
_To keep it in your mind and not forget  
It is not he or she or them or it that you belong to_

  * Bob Dylan



 

Betty had expected Manhattan to look different at six-thirty in the morning.

 

Brooklyn is busy during the day, but in the early hours when she’s out running, the streets are pretty empty. But not Manhattan, even on a Sunday - at least not here, as she’s making her way up Fifth Avenue toward the park. There are people out already, some jogging, some walking, some milling about and taking photos of the famous blocks. She’s shocked at the presence of a group of Korean tourists, decides that jet lag must be the cause of their early rise, and weaves around them so that she can cross the road.

 

She enters Central Park from the southeast corner, leaving the Sherman monument in her dust, and stops to decide which way to circle the pond. The choice is arbitrary, because she’ll end up right back here anyway, but after all, decisions seem to be difficult for people lately.

 

She decides to go clockwise and so heads west, jogging slowly with the Plaza looming nearby. Her pace has been quicker, but Betty left her running watch at the apartment in Brooklyn so she’s not tracking today anyway. Which is just as well; she’s tired, having gotten only four hours of sleep after Veronica and Archie’s wedding the night before. They hadn’t stayed much past one, but between the drive back to the hotel and the process of undoing her intricate hairdo, it was a little while before she actually managed to get into bed.

 

And then, Jughead had started talking.

 

It’s her own fault, really. She knows that. She’d kissed him, feeling happy and frisky after a day of staring at her hot boyfriend in that perfectly fitted suit and a night of cocktails and wine. He’d responded, as he nearly always did, but it had intensified a little more quickly than she’d anticipated and she’d stopped him to make sure that everything was okay. He’d been odd all day, which she’d partly attributed to him having to make a best man speech in front of everyone at the wedding - not really his favourite thing - but also to a certain text she knows he’d gotten the night before. The hope she held onto was that it wasn’t going to cause problems.

 

Of course, _that_ had gone out the window.

 

Betty passes over the bridge and heads toward the zoo, slowing her pace even more to what is almost a brisk walk. When she’d tugged his head up from her chest, he’d told her that he didn’t see himself getting married. He’d provided somewhat of an explanation, and while it had kind of made sense to Betty the way that he’d explained it, it was also late, and she was tired and probably a little drunk. So instead of responding, instead of pressing him where she thought he was a little full of shit, instead of asking him why of all days to talk about this, it had to be _today,_ she’d stopped the conversation and went to sleep.

 

Except not really. She’d laid there for awhile, staring at the wall. Based on his breathing, he didn’t sleep either, not for a long time. Betty’s not actually sure what time it was when she finally passed out, but it was long after the blanket of silence fell over them both.

 

She starts running again, this time south around the pond and then back to where she’d been before, retracing her steps. She exits the park across from the Ritz-Carlton and begins to make her way back along West 59th. She needs to get back to the St. Regis so that she can start getting ready for the morning post-wedding brunch and gift opening that Veronica and Archie are hosting at the hotel. It’s something Betty had been looking forward to, but right now she’s feeling confused and kind of annoyed and the only thing she really wants is to go home and cuddle with Caramel.

 

She swallows a small lump in her throat, not willing to cry or get emotional about this. She’s frustrated, but this isn’t something she’s going to lose Jughead over. She’s slightly irritated with him, mainly over the last thing he’d said before they’d stopped talking - telling her essentially that if she wants to get married, he would do it. The ball is in her court again, like it fucking always is, and _god damn it,_ she wants someone else to make a decision for once.

 

Betty knows that this was at least partly instigated by the text that Veronica had sent Jughead - **_put a ring on it_ ** _-_ when they’d been separated by gender the night before the wedding. She’d made the mistake of relaying some of Jughead’s messages to Veronica, the vaguely teasing ones he’d sent after apparently finding out about Veronica’s cousin asking to buy her a drink, before he’d realized that she had a boyfriend. Veronica had thought it was hilarious, then commented about how wonderful their wedding was bound to be, and subsequently had the bright idea to message Jughead. Betty had rolled her eyes at it initially, but at some point the following day it became obvious that the text - and Jughead’s inability to stop overthinking everything - had done some damage.

 

Betty’s initial instinct is to call Veronica to talk this through, because Veronica is both her best friend in NYC and one of the only people who knows Jughead well enough to be able to offer helpful advice. But she won’t, at least not today; for one, it’s still the day after her wedding, and Veronica shouldn’t have to deal with someone else’s problems yet. And also - if Betty’s going to be honest with herself, she’s sort of annoyed with Veronica over the whole thing. She doesn’t have to get so involved in everything, especially not with someone like Jughead, who has already proved himself to be kind of delicate when it comes to major changes.

 

(If she’s going to be _really_ honest, Betty’s sort of glad it came out, because at least she knows where he stands. But the timing is still fucking horrible.)

 

When she gets back to the hotel, Jughead is in a semi-state between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes are partly open but they don’t follow her quickly enough as Betty removes her shoes and then slips into the bathroom to shower.  She decides she’s not going to bring it up today, because she has no idea what she’d say. She needs to spend some time thinking before they have any further discussions; it’s not like another impromptu conversation could possibly be constructive.

 

Betty sheds her clothes and stands under the spray of the shower. She’d thought about her wedding, of course, growing up. There was a big dress, because that’s what princesses wore, and brides sort of looked like the girls from her fairy tale books. The groom was Prince Charming, the bride was Cinderella, and after the wedding was Happily Ever After. That was how it was supposed to work. That was the promise she’d been given - the dream.

 

Thinking back on it, she recognizes and understands that it’s not quite all of those things, obviously. Even as a young teen, Betty knew that marriage didn’t ensure happiness. The very existence of divorces proved that - and even apart from separation, there were also marriages like her parents’, where conflict either boiled over or was quickly pushed away in order to maintain a specific image. Betty had never cared for the image. She didn’t want what they pretended to be; she wanted the real thing.

 

At least until things with Chuck happened. That had changed things, obviously, in more ways than one. Even if getting married hadn’t been The Dream, it had definitely at least been The Inevitability. But dating someone requires trust, and after Chuck, trust was something Betty was in short supply of. It wasn’t until she met Jughead that she had even let herself start thinking that maybe all of that could still be there waiting for her after all.

 

Jughead is sitting up in bed when Betty gets out of the shower, chewing on his lip and looking nervous. His hair is wild and dishevelled, he has bags under his eyes, and there’s a crease mark on his cheek from the pillow. It’s cute as hell, but right now Betty is finding that to be more annoying than endearing, so she drags her eyes away from his sleepy anxiousness and focuses on picking out clothes.

 

Betty has a routine in the mornings. She usually goes for a run, showers, and then comes into the bedroom and slowly gets dressed while Jughead watches her. If time allows, she likes to crawl back into bed afterward and lay with him. Sometimes it escalates to something a little more active than just cuddling, but most of the time it’s just a quiet comfort. It’s as much for him as it is for her; she loves being in his arms, of course, but she also gets the sense that Jughead was fairly touch-starved for many years, so she likes to push the intimacy and physical contact between them if she can. It’s her way of making up for lost time, for both of them, as she too spent many years feeling uncomfortable with too much male physical contact.

  
But today, Betty isn’t feeling much like a quiet morning in bed. They don’t have to be downstairs for brunch for at least an hour and a half, but her heart is still conflicted after last night and she needs some clarity away from his embrace. At the same time, she doesn’t want this to become a conflict that carries forward for hours or days or weeks or however long it takes for her to work through she wants. Jughead has never been someone around whom she has to walk on eggshells, and she’s not about to let that begin now.

 

Unfortunately, when packing for the couple of days’ stay at the hotel, Betty hadn’t anticipated engaging in a semi-dispute with Jughead, so she doesn’t have any more clean clothes other than what she’d brought to wear to brunch - slim-cut hunter green pants, a flowing cream-coloured top, and leather ankle boots. She pulls them out of her bag and sets them on the edge of the small desk in the room, then slips on panties and a bra.

 

She’s just tugged the pants on and is about to grab her shirt when Jughead’s voice, quiet and uncertain, cuts through the slightly awkward silence. “Hi.”

 

Betty bites her lip and turns toward him. “Hi,” she replies softly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jughead begins, rushing the words together, “I’m such a jackass for bringing any of that up last night, Betty, I know it was the worst timing in-”

 

“It wasn’t great,” she agrees.

 

Jughead runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Yeah.” He swallows visibly. “Um. Do you want-”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it today,” Betty interrupts. Her right hand is twitching to curl up, fingernails seeking their comfortable home against her palm, so she flattens her hand against her thigh to stop herself from giving in to the urge. It’s been months since she’s harmed herself, consciously or otherwise, and when Betty meets Jughead’s eyes she can tell by the devastated look she finds there that he’s noticed her actions.

 

“Come here, Betty,” he says gently. His voice is both leaden and urgent at the same time, almost begging. “Please.”

 

She resists for a brief moment, but his blue eyes are heavy with apologies, and this isn’t really anyone’s fault. So she acquiesces, shuffling barefoot toward him at the same time as he shifts to sit at the edge of the bed. Jughead catches her hand when she gets near enough, lifts it to his face, and kisses her palm. He tugs her closer still, his hand settling on the curve of her bare waist, thumb rubbing against her skin gently.

 

He glances up at her, nerves swimming in his eyes, and quietly says, “I love you.”

 

Betty sighs. She can see the vague fear and uncertainty on his handsome features, and she knows that he’s afraid of losing her. _This stupid, sweet man,_ she thinks; she may not know exactly what she wants, but she knows that she doesn’t want _that._ “I love you too, Juggie,” she assures him, threading the fingers of her left hand through his hair. “This isn’t the end of the world. I promise.”

 

At her words, Jughead makes a sudden, low noise and tucks his face against her abdomen. His shoulders soften with relief at the same time as the hand on her waist drops. A moment later, his arms wrap around her tightly, one hand gripping the outside of her thigh for leverage. Betty closes her eyes gently, taking a second to breathe in the moment. She reopens them soon after and begins to scratch his scalp lightly with her fingernails.

 

Betty stands there with him wrapped around her until her legs begin to tire, sore as they are from running on little sleep. She shifts her weight to her left foot to give her right a bit of relief, but after a second Jughead seems to realize what’s going on and he instead shifts back and pulls her into his lap, one leg bent on either side of him.

 

The new position has placed him nearly eye-level with her chest, and although the air is still thick with emotion, Betty can’t help but smile at him. “This seems planned,” she comments, gesturing to the thin lace in front of his face.

 

A panicked, defensive look crosses Jughead’s features briefly. A moment later, he meets her eyes, realizes that she’s joking, and lets out a little huff. “It wasn’t, but now that you’ve mentioned it, I probably shouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste,” he answers, placing a kiss on her chin before dropping another between her breasts.

 

“Juggie,” Betty breathes, lifting a hand to his head again. She fully intends to stop him (this feels a bit like odd timing, too) but then his fingers reach around to her back and a moment later her bra loosens on her chest. And - _okay, yeah,_ she’s fine with this. He flattens his palms against her shoulder blades, turns to the side, and lays her carefully on the mattress. His lips trace a path from her mouth to her breasts and then down further, stopping at her navel momentarily. Betty arches her hips to assist as he slides off her pants and then her underwear.

 

Jughead places a kiss on her hipbone. “I love you,” he breathes, then lifts her calves over his shoulders. Soon, there is no talking.

 

  
They’re not exactly late for breakfast, but Betty bypasses putting makeup on in favour of spending an additional five minutes laying in bed with Jughead, and when they get downstairs to the private dining room she realizes that perhaps it was a mistake. All of the women in Veronica’s family are decked out in full hair and only slightly more minimal makeup than they had worn the previous evening. Betty walks in hand-in-hand with Jughead, dressed in her simple pants and shirt with plainly straightened hair, and she’s never felt more ordinary.

 

At this point, after a year of being with Veronica and her more fabulous friends during various bridesmaids events, including picking out dresses and settling hair and makeup, this feeling is pretty familiar. Veronica has never made Betty feel as though she has to be someone she’s not, never judged her for wearing jeans instead of a dress, never commented on her ponytails - and Betty loves her for it, because she’s not any of those fancy things and she wouldn’t like to try to be.

 

Still, there’s something about walking into a brunch in an H&M t-shirt and Gap jeans with three women wearing Christian Siriano and Manolo Blahniks that makes a girl feel somewhat inadequate.

 

Fred is already there, seated at a table near to the one that is obviously reserved for Archie and Veronica. She gives Jughead’s hand a gentle tug and nods slightly in Fred’s direction; Jughead nods and leads her across the room toward him.

 

“Can we sit here with you, Mr. Andrews?” Betty asks politely, placing one hand on the back of an empty chair at his table.

 

“Of course, Betty. And it’s _Fred,_ please.” Fred looks up at Jughead, one eyebrow cocked. “I’ve told her this every time we’ve met for the last two years. You need to break her of the habit.”

 

Jughead plops down somewhat unceremoniously, either unobservant of or simply unimpressed by the opulent gild of the chair’s frame. “Betty’s bones are actually formed by the forgotten manners of poorly behaved children,” he says matter-of-factly. “You can’t take it out of her.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes but does smile somewhat sheepishly at Fred. “Sorry, Fred. It’s a reflex. I’ll work on it.”

 

“It’s all right, Betty. You can make it up to me with another one of those pecan pies at Thanksgiving.”

 

She smiles, recalling how much her psuedo-father-in-law appreciates her cooking ability. He seems to do pretty well by himself, but she had long since assumed that pizza was the default for a single man raising two teenage boys, and thus makes an extra effort whenever she’s over to diversify the palate. “Of course, Fred,” she says politely. Her head turns at the sound of a door opening. The clacking of women’s heels on tile is heard next, immediately preceding the appearance of Veronica and Archie in the doorway.

 

The assembled guests give the newlyweds an impromptu round of applause, including Betty. Archie grins at everyone and waves good-naturedly, always so classically himself regardless of the situation, while Veronica takes a moment to pretend to be overwhelmed by the attention before waving her hands teasingly for the crowd to increase their volume.

 

Her ring glints in the harsh lighting, catching Betty’s eye. Her chest tightens ever-so-slightly at the sight. Despite having made up with Jughead this morning (or whatever it was, since she’s not quite sure if they were undone to begin with), she still feels slightly put out by the whole experience. It’s not quite _disappointment,_ per se, but definitely something related to it.

 

Veronica and Archie approach their table after greeting Archie’s mother, and Betty stands to embrace her friends. “You look amazing,” she tells Veronica, gesturing to her dress.

 

“Thanks, B,” Veronica says, squeezing tightly. “And thank you for everything that you did for us this weekend. I’m so glad it was you standing up there with me. I can’t wait to return the favour one day.”

 

Betty swallows and widens her smile, ignoring the prick of annoyance that stirs in her stomach. She just nods in response and pulls back from the hug so that Jughead can greet her, then turns to Archie and plasters a new smile on her face. “Congratulations!”

 

* * *

 

She’s back at work a couple of days later, holed up in her cubicle in the online division of the _New York Times,_ fingers flying quickly across the keyboard. Betty is currently editing an article for potential publication within the week, and if she can get it done quickly enough she might get pushed to the top of the queue. It’s an article on some regulatory changes that the state legislature is looking at with respect to nightclubs and similar establishments in industrial areas, and while it’s not exactly breaking new ground, she’s glad to finally be out of the ‘try these food trucks and write a review’ area.

 

A quick glance to the corner of her screen tells her that lunchtime is approaching. She’s packed a salad and had planned on eating it at her desk while powering through the article, but the events of the weekend are still fresh in Betty’s mind and she desperately needs a sounding board.

 

So, like she’s done at least weekly for years now, she picks up her cell phone and texts Kevin.

 

**_Relationship crisis of uncertain proportions. You free for a phone call in about ten minutes?_ **

 

His response is quick and simple. **_Always!_ **

 

Betty finishes up the last sentence she’s been rewriting and saves the document, then locks her computer, grabs her keys and phone, and skips out of the building.

 

She wanders through the Garment District for a few minutes, staring up at the primarily brown brick buildings. They’re all lodged together in blocks like Legos, organized somewhat neatly, as if intentionally hiding the secret creativity of their inhabitants both past and present. There’s a bench at the corner of a single-block park that Betty is only passingly familiar with, and it’s here that she sinks down and phones her best friend.

 

He picks up immediately. “What sort of crisis are we talking here? Did you and tall-dark-and-brooding break up? Or did he get you pregnant? Engaged?”

 

Betty’s eyes close against the cool autumn breeze. “None of those things, Kev, calm down.” She chuckles softly, though there is a distinct lack of mirth. “Especially not that last one.”

 

Kevin’s voice takes on a concerned tone. “What do you mean?”

 

Even though she wants - _needs -_ to talk this through with somebody, it’s still a trying experience, and she finds herself wishing that Kevin could just hop inside her brain so that he would be able to provide her with advice without her having to rehash it all. But since this isn’t a sci-fi novel and instead is her actual real life, Betty sighs and opens her eyes so that she can stare at two Yorkshire terriers who have walked past on a single leash.

 

“It’s kind of a long story, but to wrap it up in a bow: Jughead doesn’t want to get married. Or, he doesn’t personally have an interest in it, but ‘if _I_ want to’, he will.”

 

“Shit,” Kevin says, and _yeah,_ that’s how she feels too. “How do you feel about that?”

 

“I’m trying to figure that part out,” Betty admits. “I don’t want to do something that big just for _me._ I’d want him to want to, too. But I always figured I’d get married, everybody does, right?”

 

Kevin hesitates for a moment and then speaks, his voice taking on an air of apprehension that confuses Betty. “I dunno, Betty, this might be one of those hetero-female-friendship conversations, because I think I have a bit of a skewed perspective.”

 

Betty crosses her legs underneath her, ignoring the slight discomfort of the cool bench against the strip of skin exposed at her ankle. “I’m all about skewed perspectives now, apparently. Let me have it.”

 

“I don’t know if it’ll be helpful or relevant, but okay. Hang on, let me sit down.” There’s some rustling on the other end of the line, then Kevin lets out a small puff of air, and he clears his throat. “Okay, so it’s like - marriage as a gay guy in a post- _Obergefell v. Hodges_ world is kind of … weird. For _years,_ we - and I’m using the royal ‘we’ here, since I was like, not really old enough to be an activist or anything, but - we fought so hard for it. The community, I mean. So it feels like it’s something I’m really supposed to take advantage of.”

 

“But do you want to?” Betty asks.

 

He ignores her question. “But _before_ that, in the absence of it being an option, it’s not like there weren’t alternatives. Non-legally, anyway. Some people had commitment ceremonies, some didn’t. Some still won’t get married, since it’s still a fucking _crime_ in some countries just to be gay, let alone try to marry your boyfriend. It probably comes down to whether the institution is something that you value or not. For some people and for their families, yeah, it makes a huge difference. For others, it doesn’t.”

 

Betty stares at a Walgreens in the distance. “So basically, you don’t have any magical insight.”

 

Kevin laughs softly. “Yeah, sorry, I don’t. Joaquin has a similar sort of tragic-backstory thing going on like Jughead, and we haven’t really talked about it. We might be in the same boat.”

 

“Maybe we can row that boat somewhere nice,” Betty jokes dryly.

 

“Just me and you on a beach in Fiji,” Kevin declares. “Official backup plan.”

 

Betty giggles despite the confusion swirling in her head - it’s ever-present these last few days, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going away soon, so perhaps she should learn to live with it. “Life would be simpler, for sure. Thanks, Kev. Talk at our usual time Friday?”

 

“You got it, Betty. And hey - don’t use up all your energy thinking about this. Brooding is your hot boyfriend’s job, not yours.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks after Veronica’s wedding and one week before his birthday, Jughead begins sending Betty links to apartments for rent in Manhattan.

 

It’s completely unsolicited and comes as a bit of a surprise, though definitely a welcome one. Betty had stopped pressing the issue of potentially moving to Manhattan after Jughead expressed his discomfort with the idea in the spring, though she had kept quietly checking listings every now and then. Her attention has fallen off in recent months as work to prepare for Archie and Veronica’s wedding was ramping up, but now that it’s over and Jughead is seemingly engaged in the subject, she’s jumping back into it feet first.

 

They don’t talk about it in person, at least not at first. It starts with a single text that contains only a link to a for-rent apartment in Chinatown, to which Betty responds with another link to a different apartment in the Financial District. This continues for a little while until finally one evening Jughead plops down beside Betty on the couch, laptop in hand, and shows her a cute one-bedroom in just north of East Houston Street near the Bowery. Betty expresses some concern regarding the ground-floor location, which while offering a unique opportunity for a tiny, private backyard in the middle of Manhattan, also sort of seems less safe than their current twelfth-floor flat.

 

The next day, he sends her a south-facing unit in the same building that is four floors up. Betty isn’t sure if Jughead’s sudden interest in moving has anything to do with the whole marriage non-discussion they’d had, but she’s not going to question his motivations at this point. She arranges a few viewings, including the cute fourth-floor apartment in NoHo, and sends out several calendar invites so that he doesn’t miss any of them.

 

After seeing a few, Betty is beginning to feel a little bit like the Internet is full of nothing but lies and visual deception. She’d obviously lucked out when finding Jughead on Craigslist to start her New York journey, because this time she’s quickly learning that “cozy” really means “shoebox” and “fixer-upper” translates to “rat-infested”. It’s almost enough to make her throw in the towel and cave to living in this same apartment in Brooklyn for the rest of her life.

 

Today, they’re seeing the NoHo apartment. Betty gets off work an hour early so that she can beat the rush to Lower Manhattan, and she spends the short train ride spinning eagerly. If both she and Jughead like it in person as much as they have online, she wants to apply for it on the spot. It’s a bit smaller than their current apartment, overall, but since it’s only a one-bedroom the extra space that would have been attributed to a second bedroom has been spread between the kitchen and living areas. It has a lot of exposed brick and a small balcony off the fire escape, and its location in NoHo means that they’re just steps from the more diversely interesting East Houston Street and the Bowery rather than the side streets of semi-residential Brooklyn.

 

Plus, there’s an open-concept kitchen, including an island with bar seating along the side. Betty is unreasonably excited about this; apart from the additional counter space for cooking, it also means that they can start eating there and they can sell their tiny eat-in kitchen table. In a perfect world, Betty would want to paint the bathroom and maybe the bedroom, but she’ll have to gauge the landlord’s willingness on that front.

 

Jughead is already waiting for her outside the building when she arrives. His messenger bag is slung across his chest and he’s wearing flannel over newer, not-ripped jeans in a dark wash - his version of business casual. One of his combat boots is pressed flat against the exterior brick, his fingers drumming along his raised thigh, and Betty’s first thought is that he looks really damn good.  His job at _The Atlantic_ has been going pretty well, though she knows that he’s also been actively freelancing and has started another book. Still, is general success so far at his day job seems to have lightened his mood about work a little, which makes Betty happy. When he sees her coming his face stretches into a lazy smile and he stands up.

 

“Hey you,” he greets, grabbing her hand. “Find it okay?”

 

She nods and smiles into the kiss he gives her, then squeezes his fingers. “Let’s go take a look.”

 

Betty loves it, as she’d predicted, and they decide to apply for it. As they’re filling out the application on the kitchen island countertop, Jughead slips a casual arm around her waist and drops his forehead to her shoulder affectionately.

 

“I’m sorry for taking so long to come around to the idea of moving,” he murmurs. “This place is great. Awesome location too, not too far from the subway.”

 

Betty drops her head on top of his briefly before continuing with the application, her smooth, loopy penmanship having taken preference over Jughead’s tiny, messy scrawl. “It’s okay. Waiting means we got to see this place. You sure you’re okay with a one-bedroom?”

 

“Mhm.” Jughead kisses beside her ear, another slightly out-of-character move for him considering the woman from the property management company is standing mere feet away. “Your parents won’t come as often if they know they have to sleep on a hide-a-bed instead of getting their own room.”

 

Betty giggles, signs her name, and then passes the pen off to Jughead to do the same. They hand the application to the property management agent, who smiles kindly at them and tells them she’ll be in touch.

  


They grab dinner after at one of the now-quiet restaurants in the Financial District. The night is unseasonably warm for late September, and after they’ve finished eating Betty proposes that they walk across the Brooklyn Bridge on the way home.

 

When they’re about halfway across, Jughead stops her and proposes that they take a photo with the brightening city lights behind them. Betty raises her eyebrows, unsure of what’s gotten into him tonight, but since a Jughead-proposed photo opportunity is a rarity she of course obliges.

 

He sends it to her once they start walking again. “You should put that on insta-whatever-it’s-called. I look hot.”

 

“You know it’s called Instagram, it won’t ruin your too-cool-for-social-media cred to admit that,” Betty says, rolling her eyes at him. “But okay, I will when we get back to the apartment.”

 

“Good.” Jughead lifts an arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. “Just trying to be romantic, babe.”

 

Betty leans into his embrace; it’s a bit cool over the water. “I think you just like the comments Kevin leaves when I post photos of you.”

 

Jughead shrugs, his eyes sliding away from Betty’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says evasively. “Besides, he’s so creative. I didn’t know I had good facial symmetry.”

 

She giggles. “You really won in the face department, Juggie, that’s for sure.”

 

“Yeah, well.” His chest puffs out a little, then he laughs and slides his hand to her waist. “You won out in every department.”

 

Her eyebrow raises, but she smiles at the compliment. “Cheesy.”

 

“Like the pants department,” Jughead continues, leading her off the bridge and down past the underpass. “These are excellent pants. They’re really working for you.”

 

Betty looks down at her outfit, which includes a navy blue sweater, cream-coloured scarf, and dark orange pants. When she’d bought them they had felt both autumnal and summery at the same time, quite suitable for this time of year, but she hadn’t thought that they were the sort of thing Jughead would notice since he doesn’t usually care too much about her clothing unless she isn’t wearing any.

 

“Thanks,” she says, feeling her face grow a little warm when he winks at her.

 

They stop for hot chocolate and then turn down a side street that will cut a closer path to their apartment. Betty is in the middle of taking a sip of her drink when she feels Jughead’s arm around her waist again. She swallows, leans a bit closer to him, and his hand slides over her ass. She bites her lip, blushes deeply, and ducks her head against him as they keep walking. Normally, she’s not really into this kind of PDA - he’s not either, really, but clearly he’s feeling the same kind of vibe as she is because all she wants is to be closer to him.

 

Betty pulls at his clothes as soon as they get in the door of their apartment, wanting him to know how much she appreciates it, _everything:_ the new apartment, his constant support, his willingness to be open and honest.

 

Jughead obliges, first helping her undress him and then getting her out of her sweater and pants in record time. They have sex in the kitchen, her hands clutching the counter behind for her leverage and her legs around his waist. Afterward, she tugs on his flannel shirt and her underwear and falls into his lap on the couch.

 

She feels impossibly like she belongs, laying right here against him, and it’s then that Betty is hit with the overwhelming knowledge that _yeah,_ she’s going to be here for the rest of her life. She pulls up the photo they’d taken on the bridge, crops it just slightly, and then posts it to her Instagram account with the simple caption: **home.**

 

* * *

 

They find out that they’ve gotten the NoHo apartment three days later, and on the first weekend in October, they move to Manhattan.

 

Jughead manages to rope Moose, Reggie, and a fresh-off-his-honeymoon Archie into helping them move everything from their Brooklyn apartment down twelve flights, load it into a U-Haul, and then back up four flights to their new place. Betty pays them in beer and pizza, as seems to be the going rate for young men in their mid-twenties. It takes all day, and by the end of it she and Jughead are too exhausted to unpack anything other than a blanket, pajamas, and two pillows.

 

They spend the first night in their new apartment sleeping on the bare mattress, which lays where it had been left by Moose and Reggie, diagonally placed in the middle of the bedroom.

 

In the morning, the first order of business is reassembling their bed frame, then Betty leaves Jughead to unpack the linen closet while she gets to work in the kitchen. She finds it oddly relaxing to make decisions about where they’ll keep cups versus plates, and whether coffee mugs and drinking glasses can go on the same shelf. She makes an executive decision that the cupboard above the fridge will be used for nothing but vases and other irregularly-needed items and has just completed filling it when Jughead makes an appearance in the kitchen.

 

“I hate unpacking,” he declares.

 

Betty smiles and climbs down from the stool she’d been using to reach above the fridge. “Me too,” she says, half-lying. “Getting hungry?”

 

Jughead nods and shuffles over to her, tugging at her wrist until she leans into him. “I will love you forever if you go get us sandwiches.”

 

“What’s wrong with you, are you broken?”

 

“Only inside,” he says dramatically. Betty rolls her eyes and he grins broadly, slipping a hand beneath her shirt to tickle her side. “No, I want to assemble the new shelf we bought but I also need sustenance or I’ll die.”

 

Betty pushes his hands away and dusts hers off on her jeans. “Heard loud and clear,” she reports, stepping out of his grasp and grabbing her bag from where it’s sitting on the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Although there is an elevator, she takes the stairs down, needing a little bit of natural activity other than bending over and lifting boxes. As much as Betty loves organization, she’ll be glad when this is all done and they can settle in on the couch and relax with Caramel, who is on a kitty-vacation at Veronica and Archie’s during the hectic moving process. Even though it’s happened quickly and without the preparation time that Betty would have preferred, she thinks it’ll be worth it - the new place is closer to both of their workplaces and also to Veronica and Archie’s.

 

Plus, it really does seem like a new beginning and a continuation all at once - new place, same love.

 

 _Same._ Betty has been thinking a lot about their conversation in September at the wedding, about the idea of getting married to Jughead, and about what that means to her, and is beginning to come to the conclusion that having things stay _the same_ doesn’t have to mean anything bad, if the status quo is as wonderful as hers is. She’d actually made a list in her diary a couple of weeks ago, and had included things like wanting a partner, a support system, someone to rely on - then realized that what she really wants out of it is just to be happy.

 

It had all made sense - except she _is_ happy. She already has those things. She’s always felt like what she and Jughead have is special, and now she’s thinking that it’s more than enough. Maybe happiness looks like different things, and maybe this is what it is for her and Jughead - at least for now. More than him, Betty definitely understands the desire for a symbol of commitment. And truthfully, she’d still love to have a wedding, still thinks it’s a beautiful celebration. But if it ever happens, Betty thinks, it’ll be the cherry on top of a sundae that he made for her long ago.

 

And that’s okay with her.

 

The other day, she’d discovered that he was attending a support group for partners and other supporters of assault survivors. Then, she’d found out he’d been doing so for _a year,_ quietly and without comment to her. He’d told her it was originally as a means to learn how better to help her, and had just kept going back. She’d figured that he would stop going once they’ve fully settled into Manhattan, and when Jughead had told her that he had no plans to find a support group in their new borough Betty had assumed that it was because he’d exhausted that particular resource.

 

When she’d said as much, intending it as a matter-of-fact statement and not a question, Jughead had looked at her like she was crazy and informed her that no, he’ll take the train to Brooklyn for it instead. He likes the group, he’d said, and he likes the specific people involved.

 

Betty had found herself surprised, but as she’s walking to the deli and reflecting on it now, she realizes that she shouldn’t have been. Because that’s what Jughead does - he sticks with people.

 

She picks up a couple of sandwiches for them at the corner deli and then heads back to the apartment, where Jughead is struggling to assemble their new bookshelf.

 

“Betty,” he says, looking pleadingly at her. “It’s not made to fit.”

 

She giggles at his intentional melodrama and sets the sandwiches down on the counter. “Really?”

 

“Nah. I just suck at this.” He resets two of the wooden pieces and then glances back at her. “Will you hold this in place for a second?”

 

Betty sets her bag down on the floor and walks over to him. “Yeah,” she says. “I will.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback on the first chapter. I hope you liked Betty's part to the story and I'm sorry if this coda wasn't quite what some people were expecting.
> 
> There will be one more [multi-part] coda to this series, and then it will be complete.


End file.
